


Triquetra

by Liraeyn



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Betrayal, Childbirth, F/M, Friendship, Redemption, Stillbirth, Suicide, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28102770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liraeyn/pseuds/Liraeyn
Summary: Hi!  I suppose I own the exact details, but none of the characters or the world.  Enjoy.Note: Some of this will be awfully dark.  Proceed accordingly.
Kudos: 2





	1. Loner

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I suppose I own the exact details, but none of the characters or the world. Enjoy.   
> Note: Some of this will be awfully dark. Proceed accordingly.

Mama   
Two siblings   
Excitement day?   
Alone   
Alone in the dark, waiting   
It’s not time to come out yet. No one around to guard me, no one to eat. Must wait.   
Ah, there’s someone...   
X   
Riala lifted the crimson egg from the crevice, marveling at her discovery. She would know a dragon egg anywhere. Five times she’d hoped to join the Riders, holding an egg under the watchful gaze of an elf, but no joy.   
Not yet, at least. Maybe...   
With no signs of life, she tucked it into her pack and set off for home.   
X   
Spring came again, and the Riders’ envoy returned to Narda bearing a quartet of eggs. Riala held each one -grey, sunset orange, pale green, and a mottled brown- with the usual result: nothing. The Elven guardian did not seem overly perturbed as he gathered up the eggs to leave.   
“Hold up.” Riala knew without asking that he was irritated at being kept from departure. “I found this.” She pulled out the red egg with a flourish and handed it to him.   
He let out a startled exclamation as his fingers closed around it, then began to laugh. “It’s a wild egg. Where was it?”   
“Tucked in a cave in the Spine. There were dead leaves all over it, must have been in there for a while. I don’t really know what to do with it, so...”   
The elf looked between her and the egg for a moment, then handed it back to her. “It will hatch when it’s safe and there’s plenty of food. She can probably fend for herself after that, but maybe you could look after her for a while. It’s not being a Rider, but...”   
Finally, Riala realized the elf had probably dealt with his own, repeated disappointment. She certainly wasn’t the only reject in the world.   
X   
It was the height of summer before the egg hatched.   
One moment Riala was turning a spit so one of the many deer caught in the rut would cook evenly over the fire in Narda’s central courtyard. The next, there was a commotion in the tavern where she worked. The crimson dragon egg sat tucked in a corner in her bedroom above the dining room.   
Correction: the egg now lay in pieces in that self-same corner, while the dragon within scampered around that self-same dining room. At least, so Riala assumed from the crashes, squawks of protest, and occasional shouts on the order of “Out! Shoo! Can someone-”   
Feeling responsible, and rightly so, Riala handed her spit-turning duties to the nearest person and charged off. The inside of the dining room was complete and utter chaos. The dull-red dragon, no larger than a robin, fluttered around diving at people’s heads.   
Acting on pure instinct, Riala sat on the floor in th e middle of the room and began to sing a lullaby, only half-remembered from so long ago. Evidently, it was enough. The red dragon settled on her lap, curled up, and began to purr like a cat. Riala carefully lifted her and carried her outside, to audible relief from the onlookers.   
X   
The humans treated her like their own child, or else a god, the difference between the two being a question of power and of who created whom in their own image. They brought her food, and showed her the place where they kept their grain. The stone building proved for her an excellent source of prey in the form of the small furred creatures the humans already wanted gone. She was, after all, a far better hunter than the less-small-yowling-rumbling furred creatures that sometimes tried to scare her off.   
The friendly human, the first to offer her some emotion other than fear, who taught the others to accept her, gave her a name: Vervada. Stormcleaver.   
She liked that.   
X   
All dragons grow at different speeds, but even Vervada’s slow and sporadic increases in size eventually took her beyond mice and human friendship. She left on a warm spring day to the good wishes of a town she’d once called home.   
Now she was alone again.   
X   
Her awakening came later than she’d hoped, but then it was nothing Vervada could control. She’d been feeling odd for days on end, as if parts of her body had gone from unused to overworked overnight. Desires to which she’d not given particular thought suddenly overwhelmed all else.   
For nearly a month, she lay on top of a mountain trying to make heads and tails of what she was feeling. Ultimately, it was a different sort of hunger that drove her to action.   
The herd of mountain goats bounding around, disrupting her sleep, provided excellent hunting. On cathing the first one, she felt an inexorable force gathering within her, and shot a burst of red fire at the small and helpless animal.   
That development gave her even more over which to puzzle. Somewhere in her memories, or rather the ones given to her by others, she knew what it was she needed.   
X   
The large white dragon arrived on a warm spring morning when Vervada was busy munching on a nicely roasted deer. Between her human-influenced childhood and her own flames, she preferred most of her food at least partly cooked.   
This she explained to her new acquaintance, even as he taught her what exactly it was she wanted. He lacked a proper name; he had no need for one when the only other beings whose thoughts he valued were other dragons and could therefore name him with a cluster of thoughts.   
Big-white-father-to-my-eggs.   
He didn’t stay long. Both of them could feel the quartet of immature minds growing inside her before he left with a gift of prey and his good wishes. That was fine. She had what she needed from him.   
X   
The children came when she felt safe, in the cave where Vervada herself had been born so loing ago. Two, males, were colored white to match their father. Their sisters looked more like she would have guessed, the pale pink of sunrise.   
She hoped they would hatch soon.   
X   
Vervada’s wishes granted themselves in their own time. Her eggs hatched as the young did everything, in pairs. The males came first, almost simultaneously, followed a week later by the females only a few hours apart.   
She taught them to hunt and all she knew of the world. She loved that, having companions and flying in a thunder. But of course, the halcyon days of childhood could not last forever. Fire and hunger came in time, and the younglings left together on a fine summer day to seek their own mates in turn.   
Alone again.   
X   
This time, there were two of them. Nestmates. Everyone had a friend except her.   
One was black, one a dark brown, but they looked, felt, smelled so much alike. They didn’t bother to ask as to the resulting offspring. Then they were gone again, leaving her behind with six unborn offspring.   
These were born and hatched much sooner than the others, though already perfectly formed. The nuances of dragon gestation were beyond Vervada’s ken, but she cared not.   
Hatchlings!   
It was as if this batch had been designed by someone with no imagination. One male and one female each of black, dark brown, and crimson. Pairs as usual.   
They, too, grew as they should and left in time.   
X   
This time, her mate has a friend, too.   
The tiny creature Iormungr keeps on his back has only four limbs, more akin to her prey than the dull blue dragon who seems absolutely terrified of her.   
As well he should be.   
But then she recognizes Riala, the human she’d once known, and accordingly, she decides not to eat her. It’s a different sort of hunger driving her today, anyway.   
Vervada had gone to live in the Hadarac Desert by the time of the third nest. The mind of the male dragon felt strange, with more sounds than anything else to name the world around him. As for the human on his back...   
Hello, Riala!   
The three of them landed in a field, swapping memories. Hunting and motherhood, the stuff of life, from her, training and rules and words from the two of them. Useless constructs, those, but part of who her old and new friends were.   
Quickly enough, the two dragons left Riala behind on the ground, her mind full of laughter.   
X   
When the two left, as they always did, they actually told her where they were going: that big island near where she’d hatched. Vervada made a note of that. While the desert was a wonderful place to dragon, she longed to explore the world. She would, she decided, visit Iormungr with their hatchlings.   
X   
By the time the eggs came, a surprisingly harsh winter had blown in. Vervada knew they would not hatch until the winds died down, the massive snowdrifts settled to the ground to melt in time and return to the air, her breath stopped freezing over her nostrils, the sun emerged again from the rarely-broken clouds, and above all, the prey emerged again from its winter-sleep.   
That last problem was proving most troublesome. She’d gone longer without food, that was true, but never while pregnant. It wasn’t as if she could go somewhere better, either. Already, she’d felt the mind of one neighboring dragon fade abruptly to darkness after he ventured out into the blizzard.   
So she kept to herself, lapping marrow from the bones of long-dead prey deep in the back of her cave. She would be fine, she knew. But she worried for the little ones. Their minds were faltering within her.   
The day finally arrived, and it came as a relief that it would soon be over. A little less suffering in the world. If she could just get through it.   
The birth was horribly long and painful. Hours crawled past uncounted as wave after wave of contractions rolled through her.   
One undersized egg made its appearance, the shell a dull dark red that looked like lifeblood, but to her surprise she could feel its mind still, weak but steady. Maybe there was some hope. By then, the midnight snowfall had grown sufficiently heavy for lightning and thunder to crash through it every few seconds, turning night into day.   
Another egg, now, in a slightly brighter red. Alive again. Maybe this would work out after all.   
Quickly on the heels of that one, a pale blue egg arrived, but Vervada knew at once that it was dead. The shell was too thin, the egg itself too light. Whatever that youngling was supposed to be, it was long gone.   
And the two that followed, in a dull off-white that reminded her of nothing so much as long-dead bone. From past experience, Vervada was certain that another blue egg was still forthcoming, but the pains had stopped. Well. She needed time to rest, anyway.   
It took embarrassingly long for Vervada to realize that underneath all of the thunder, she could hear the beats of a dragon’s wings. She spent a moment wondering who was stupid or desperate enough to fly in the horrid storm.   
Then they landed in her cave, and she realized it was Iormungr and Riala. She lacked the energy to greet them with more than a look.   
Iormungr sniffed at the eggs, pride and grief showing in their turns. Then he licked her on the cheek. Love, now that she had the word for it, crashed through her, bringing with it something nearly as powerful.   
Without bothering to consider it, Vervada pushed the magic into her womb, and the last egg came free into Riala’s waiting hands. The dull thrum of her daughter’s slumbering thoughts reassured Vervada that her struggles had ultimately been worth it.   
Riala had lit a white werelight by then, and by its light the newest egg shone brilliant sapphire blue. Absolutely perfect.   
X   
As Riala told the story, they’d kept an eye on Vervada ever since their departure. Some magic words let them have a look at her whenever they wanted, which they often had. As soon as the eggs began to come, they’d set out as quickly as they could. The weather had made it difficult, and Vervada couldn’t blame them for that.   
Once the weather broke, just for a day or two, Riala carried the three dead eggs out to a nice field, and there the two dragons made ashes of the tiny scraps that were supposed to be their children. No scavengers would feed on the tiny bodies.   
X   
Dragon and Rider asked Vervada to fly to the big-magic island with them and raise the eggs there, but she was, at heart, a wild dragon. She did, however, give them the blue egg.   
Iormunger asked her if she was sure as Riala bundled their daughter into her saddlebags. Vervada poured her thoughts into his mind, leaving him to interpret. All of her other offspring had a twin, a partner. Except this one.   
She would need a Rider.   
X   
The two red eggs were tucked safely away in- ...that place. The one that kept wriggling out of her grasp. No matter. The coming battle would be quite the adventure.   
Riala, Iormungr, another pair named Saphira and Brom, and a few wild dragons, including big-ancestor-Belgabad, clustered together around one of the island’s many fire vents. Some fuzzy memory told them to draw attention away from-   
From absolutely nowhere. All that mattered was right here, right now, and the fourteen angry dragons swooping down in a cacophony of wingbeats.   
The battle blurred itself together on later recollection, all the events combining or inverting. Belgabad’s death stuck out, as one would expect. A pale pink’s Rider stabbed him through the eye, the task requiring the round-ears to physically crawl inside.   
That one deserved the gore covering him. He would later die in the big- what under the sun was that light, anyway? That had killed Iormungr and Riala, too. Even his Eldunari was gone.   
This, she sensed through her own, already tucked in one of the Wyrdfell’s backpacks. Her body had been lost in-   
Ah, yes. She’d been trying to protect Saphira. The young dragon, barely old enough for fire, had been crouched over her unconscious rider. Vervada’s death, coming when a misshapen red bit her behind her head, had been accompanied by Belgabad’s crumpled, body crashing finally to the stony ground. Saphira had snatched Brom and made a break for a nearby building in some hope that he could shelter there. Then she’d...   
Saphira had been trying to grab the egg that looked so much like her from where it had been tucked in a crevice. She was supposed to have been locked away safely -where?- with her siblings, but had simply gotten lost in the chaos.   
And then the brown and the purple and the red had all gone after Saphira.   
Vervada had drawn herself into her Eldunari at that, unwilling to look. Even so, she’d known when the final blast obliterated almost all life on Vroengard. The familiar inspiration swept over her at the last moment, allowing her to shield herself, her daughter, the other egg, and Brom from the blast.   
After that, all was darkness.   
X   
Even as just an Eldunari, Vervada could feel strong arms wrapping around her. The relevant mind was walled off, but she knew it meant her no harm. Whoever it was, they’d taken her unhatched daughter as well, and that was enough for her to trust them.   
X   
Which had been a mistake.   
The kind one lacked any authority to defend her from their leader. The other Eldunari soon went mad from their constant mind-rape and the leeching of their life-force. But Vervada held on. She had her daughter to protect, tucked away next to the egg destined to be her mate amongst a host of lesser treasures.   
Then she was gone, in an instant, leaving behind the mate and the traitor.   
And Vervada was... alone. 


	2. Partner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, readers (if I have any)! Wear your masks, take your pills, and remember, if you can’t keep it together, you’re still a valuable human being.   
> Note: Grim content. There’s a war on- what were you expecting?

They couldn’t save everyone. 

Such a trite comment, used to comfort survivors and would-be rescuers, but it was painfully true at the moment. Galbatorix and the Wyrdfell were expecting to slaughter everyone on Vroengard, including the newest dragons and their Riders. So there would have to be a few for them to find. Otherwise, the pack would go looking for them, and even where they were going there wouldn’t be a place to hide. 

Now try explaining that to a few dozen terrified hatchlings. 

Most of the Riders in the nursery were children, both human and elven. Then there were the adults, glad to join the order after an inevitable earlier disappointment. Those would be easier to convince, perhaps. But still. 

Ophelia gave her rider, Ava, a suggestion, which was quickly accepted. 

“Slytha.” 

At the simple command, the nursery quieted as everyone inside slumped where they sat, doubtless dreaming of either escape or what it was they were fleeing. At least they wouldn’t know what was going on. 

Ava and the others began to gather up the children and their hatchling partners, starting with the smallest. As good a way to pick as any. One by one, the older Riders lifted each baby dragon, tucked it in its Rider’s backpack, tied it on said Rider’s back, and carried them to the larger dragons. A few were tied on the back, in saddles built to carry multiple passengers, while others were tied ankle, wrist, and hips to the sides of the dragons. 

With only five adult dragons to carry the children, there were only so many they could manage anyway. 

Over on the other side of Vroengard, other Riders were carrying armloads of eggs and Eldunari down into- whatever that thing was called. That was all well and good for those dragons who could handle being locked in a room for centuries, but their tiny band couldn’t handle abandoning those who had hatched, and those whom they had chosen to accompany them throughout their lives. Thus, evacuating at least  _ some _ of them. 

“ _ Ophelia, help me _ .” 

Lenora’s request caught Ophelia off-guard, but she knew at once what her sister meant. It was time for her to lay the eggs she’d been hoping to carry safely inside her to their new home. 

_ Nothing to do about that now _ . 

Lenora crawled into the nesting house. Even now, at the end of the world, she couldn’t fathom laying her eggs anywhere else. This was a routine she’d followed four times before, laying a total of seventeen eggs. 

“ _ Just go. I’ll follow when I can. _ ” 

The three other child-laden dragons in their self-appointed group took off and headed due west without comment. Ophelia considered following, but couldn’t bring herself to abandon her laboring sister. Not now, when Riders were running back and forth across the city, shouting to each other that the traitors,  _ all _ of the traitors, were coming to kill them... 

Lenora’s Rider, Edillo, began to sing with the magic words, and quickly enough, five small eggs emerged into the light. He laid a hand on each of them, spelling them to claim Riders of their own. They could not take the chance on them hatching when it was not safe to do so. 

Ava bundled each egg in a blanket before tucking them away. Two, females both, were as black as their mother and aunt. Another female and a male, with the grey scales of their long-dead father. Lastly another male, emerald green. 

By the time the rest of them were prepared to depart, cloaked in invisibility spells, the Vault at the ...place... was sealed up- 

_ What did they put in there?  _

No matter. 

Ava was just wrapping the green egg when the first of them appeared. Red sword, red dragon, red magic. The color of blood and fire. 

The blue gleam behind him caught Mirimel’s attention. Like a glimpse of blue sky through the smoke of a forest fire consuming everything around you. 

“ _ Ava, there’s an egg. That female they were trying to hatch. Must have gotten missed when they moved the rest- _ ” 

Moved to where? 

Ava took one look and shook her head. “We’ll never get to her. They’d see us and then the whole game is up.” 

No difference, practically, between this and abandoning the rest of the hatchlings. Unless, of course, the Wyrdfell would capture the egg without killing her. Both a blessing and a curse. 

“ _ We can’t just leave her. _ ” 

“We don’t have a choice. We have to go now.” 

“And leave her alone with those nameless terrors? No.” 

Ava tucked the green egg into a nearby cabinet. “There. Now she’s got a mate. We have to go.” 

Lenora took one last, anguished look at her abandoned egg, before leaping into the sky. Ophelia followed close behind, slip-streaming to save energy for their long voyage. 

Behind them, the only world they’d known could do nothing but burn. 


	3. Traitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Massive issues, child abuse, self-destruction, violence. Consider yourself warned. 
> 
> Italics in quotations is mind-speech, underlined is ancient language.

“There’s a story I want to tell you, about a friend of mine.” 

X 

_ In my defense, there weren’t supposed to be this many deaths. _

Or so says everyone, ever, who started a war. But Formora genuinely did mean that. They were  _ supposed _ to take over leadership of the Riders and reform them, not obliterate them almost completely and the wild ones while they were at it. 

Too late for that, now. Too late for a lot of things. 

The day had gone poorly. 

_ “And other laughable understatements.” _

Hers’ voice, what was left of it, cut through the gloom of Formora’s thoughts.  _ “Well, if I had to articulate everything I’m currently feeling, I’d probably lose what’s left of my sanity.” _

_ “Nice problem. At least  _ you _ have some left.” _

Hers had a point. The odd spell that had somehow made it impossible to name their -the word was “dragons”, but it could not be applied to  _ theirs _ \- worked in reverse, too. Theirs found it impossible to name things, or often use language at all. Hers could only make oblique observations, as a response. All anyone could say about hers was just that, to whom she belonged. As such, the bond between the remainder of the Thirteen and theirs was unusually strong. Before the “change”, it wasn’t exactly unheard-of for Rider or dragon to outlive the other. But these days, none of them managed it. The vindictive dragon magic -for what else could it be?- had cut their lifespans dramatically short. 

Which was exactly what had happened a few days ago. 

Belle had displeased Galbatorix excessively, and he’d decided to torture hers as punishment. Something about failing to find the Varden. The King thought she hadn’t been trying, and Formora privately agreed. None of them would  _ entirely _ regret if some assassin were to- 

Anyway, the blonde human had been acting strangely ever since the death of- 

It wasn’t magic that had made Formora forget the name of Belle’s only real friend; she just didn’t care. The human female had died, somehow, along with her orange. Belle had shouted some spell Formora didn’t recognize that killed both her and her grey. That was another quirk of the spell- they could describe the colors of the dead. Perhaps their own deaths would begin to pay for their sins. 

Certainly, there had been a lot of payment. They were down to four pairs. 

Morzan offered her a bottle of some dark liquid, and she downed a quaff without troubling to ask what exactly it was. Heat shot through her, and she nearly gagged. 

“What’s in this?” 

“Not enough.” 

Formora was disinclined to argue. “That was...  _ bad _ .” 

The two of them were pretending to relax inside the common room overlooking Uru’baen. Large enough for more dragons than remained alive in Alagaesia, the would-be luxurious room served only to echo the fact that there were so few dragons and Riders remaining. 

It was absurd, but Formora found herself lonely more often than she should have. 

X 

For the decades since the takeover, Galbatorix insisted on referring to them as the Thirteen. Thirteen pairs they had been for so short a time. Glaerun and his had been  _ obliterated _ . In the split second of warning they’d had, she’d thrown up a shield out of sheer habit. 

If she’d known what the coming years would bring, would she have done otherwise? 

Their numbers dwindled two by two, other than three pairs at once during a skirmish with the rebels. That had been the first time they knew that Brom was still alive, and the first time they heard the name  _ Varden _ . 

And then Kialandi. Of all the ways to die. 

They’d been coming back from Vroengard after another fruitless expedition. Cutting through the Spine had become routine. Not even a thought to be careful, watch your altitude, look out for that- 

Hers had been flying in the lead, Kielandi’s in her slipstream. Barely far enough apart to avoid each other’s wingtips. 

And yet, it was far enough. 

The pattern -headwind, downdraft, tailwind- was known to Formora, thanks to one of the many Eldunari memories. She’d shouted a warning to Kialandi with both voice and mind, but it was too little, too late. His crashed to the ground in a cacophony of screams and broken trees far worse than it looked. 

Formora and hers had circled back and landed nearby, Formora leaping over trees with speed she’d forgotten she could achieve. For all that, she was too late. It had been too late as soon as her twin and his slammed into the earth. He was screaming in agony, clutching his chest. His was still gasping for air, purple scales rising and falling as her body fought to live, but her mind was already gone. Her Eldunari had been shattered inside her body. There was no repairing that damage. 

Of course, like any Rider or dragon under the Sun, Kialandi refused to accept that, heedlessly pouring energy into what was left of his, trying to keep her alive for  _ just a minute longer, stay with me, I love you _ \- 

No amount of pleading on Formora’s part would get him to let go of his, to stay with her. He just kept pouring energy into his’ ruined form, until his own life force ran out and he slipped away to join her. The silence that followed was broken only by the beating of her own heart. 

Which she resented. 

X 

Behind the two of them, theirs lounged on padded cushions, hers munching happily on a deer. His, on the other hand, kept his eyes on Morzan as if the latter was some sort of threat. After what had just happened with Belle, Formora figured that was understandable. 

Silence reigned over the four of them even more harshly than Galbatorix for what felt like the first second of eternity. Finally, Formora broke it with a statement that felt irrationally mundane. 

“We’re running out of dragons.” 

Morzan nodded and made to grab a refill from the small kitchen. Something about his gait caught Formora’s attention and as he sat back down she noticed a streak of blood on his shirt. She ignored it for the moment. 

“Shouldn’t there have been more eggs? The ones on Vroengard were destroyed, mostly. Even so, we came away from there with thirteen dragons and a pigeon pair of eggs, and that should have been enough to rebuild. But they haven’t hatched, and unless I’m missing something, there haven’t been any more. I can’t believe I’ve not thought of this before-” 

Some memory of Belle and her friend resurfaced. They’d been discussing their bodies, and the fact that they’d stopped... that thing that human females did to have children. Formora never had gotten her brain around how readily accessible human fertility was supposed to be. 

Morzan nodded. “That’s from the blast on Vroengard. Took me a while to notice. Or maybe it’s a curse like with the names. Or both.” 

It looked like he had more to say, but he stopped himself. Formora shrugged. “Maybe we should find a way to fix it.” 

“ Don’t .” 

Morzan’s intense command, given in her native tongue, caught her by surprise. That must have showed through her usual emotionless mask, for Morzan flinched away from her. 

“I set out to topple a corrupt regime, not drive a species to extinction. If we don’t-” 

“You honestly think there should be more of  _ us _ ?” 

Morzan stumbled to his feet, knocking the second now-empty bottle off of the table. Breaking glass drew the attention of both of theirs, and a growl from his. 

“Look at me. Everything I touch gets broken. Believe me, we’re the last people in Alagaesia who should have had a kid-” 

By the looks of things, Morzan had said more than he intended. That, more than anything, made her realize what was really going on. The red Rider flicked his eyes toward the door, where both of their swords stood on the weapons rack. Formora snatched the chance to defuse the situation. 

“ I’ll keep your secret .” 

Morzan stared at her in disbelief, then muttered something ending with “it” and grabbed another bottle. The hiss of pain when he sat back down was undeniable this time. The two Riders just sat there in silence for a while, as theirs groomed each other and Morzan decreased the amount of alcohol he would consume in the remainder of his lifetime. 

“Yeah, so, I found a spell that can restore fertility. Shouldn’t have. Did. Story of my life.” 

“So...” 

“I- you know that woman you threatened a while back?” 

“You’re really going to have-” 

“-have to be more specific, I know.” 

In their intoxicated state, the two found the quip irrationally funny. He touched her mind for a split second, pushing across the image of a brunette woman. Formora couldn’t place her, but that was unsurprising. There were so many faces crammed in, dead and harmed and betrayed. She’d lived longer than she should have, at least like this. 

Morzan shrugged. “She caught me casting a spell, wanted to know more. I think she might have loved me back then. Anyway, I just-” He gulped the entire bottle in one go and managed to set it down without smashing it. Formora gave him a few seconds of sarcastic applause. 

“I wanted to at least pretend to be a normal person. I think. Or I just wanted to have power over a kid, or over Selena. It’s a bit of a muddle.” 

“Yes, well, we’re  _ not _ normal people, and pretending otherwise is not good for anyone.” 

That drew a bark of harsh laughter from Morzan. “Yes, well anyway, I may have tried to kill him.” 

“You  _ may have _ .” 

He winced. “It’s a bit of a blur in between thinking alcohol was a good way to drown out Belle, and waking up out in my garden, dangling upside down with mine pinning me to a wall screaming at me. Physically and mentally.” 

His growled in agreement, and Formora couldn’t shake a scrap of joy that even now, no-longer-dragons would still protect a hatchling. 

“Nothing I didn’t deserve. Look.” He ripped off his shirt, and Formora gave an awkward sigh before recoiling in alarm. 

“What the-” But it was no real question. It all made sense now. His considering him a threat, the awkward movements and painful gasps. Morzan’s entire back was covered in slash marks. She would have recognized dragon claws anywhere. Most noteworthy was the fact that Morzan hadn’t healed himself. It was as if, well, he thought he deserved the pain and the damage. That left Formora with an odd feeling that may have been righteous vindication. Not like she would recognize that sort of thing if she felt it. 

“Well if you can’t remember, then-” 

Morzan shoved a cluster of memories at her, tinged with the red hue that made it clear they’d come secondhand from his. Did that make them fourthhand by the time they got to her? 

Some toddler-age, she couldn’t guess given how quickly humans grow, had run up to Morzan to check if he was okay. Of all the things. Morzan threw a bottle at him, and although the child immediately turned to run, done likewise with his unsheathed sword. 

Mind colored with a surprising amount of anguish, Morzan pulled back, and went to grab another bottle, but Formora slapped his hand away. 

“Morzan, there’s not a whole lot certain in this world, but I am sure of one thing: if you throw a sword at your own damn kid and don’t remember it, you definitely have a drinking problem.” 

All at once, he was on his feet and jabbing at her with a dagger he’d hidden somewhere. “You don’t get to stand in judgement. I saw what was left of the nursery on Vroengard after you and that double of yours  _ went through _ it.” 

_ That _ stung, all the worse because it was, in fact, painfully true. A whole dragon-worthy house full of innocent hatchlings. Almost a stereotype of how terrible things had gotten. Correction: how evil they’d become, without entirely meaning to. Not that they’d had much of a choice. Kielandi had been with her, performing the same violent acts. She doubted either of them would have turned on the Riders without the other. 

At the time, the plan hadn’t been to kill  _ all _ of them, just the ones who fought back. Of course that had turned out to be all of the Riders and even the wild dragons. None of them would have accepted Galbatorix’s control, not after the theft of the Eldunari and the violently horrific acts the fourteen pairs had already committed. 

Years later, she’d finally realized Galbatorix had done that on purpose, just to make sure there would be only as many dragons and Riders as he had under his control. Sometimes, if she were feeling gracious, she told herself they’d gone further than even he had intended. Certainly now, with only four pairs of servants left and a pair of eggs, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that this was the intended result. Not that it left her any more virtuous than the man beside her. 

Except: “At least  _ I _ remember doing that. There’s a part of my brain devoted to...  _ preserving _ what we did that day. I’m not just pretending it didn’t happen.” 

“At least he’s still alive. I think. I mean, I know he’s alive, but I’m not sure that’s an improvement. Not after that much pain and damage.” 

Formora shrugged. There really wasn’t anything to say to that. 

The sun set in a beautiful red-gold that Formora couldn’t help thinking would make a gorgeous dragon. How many sunsets were left in their lifetimes? 

“Can you... fix ours?” 

Formora’s query surprised even herself, but the hope radiating from hers would not be denied. The muddy would-be egg-layer had been unable to properly speak her wish, but the basic wanting was unmistakeable. 

Morzan hesitated. “ _ Can _ , yes, might take a while but yes. As for  _ should _ , well, they’d only exist to serve Galbatorix, and let’s be honest, I’ve already condemned one child to that fate, haven’t I? Not sure I wan’t to do that again.” 

“Well...” This, Formora knew, was the turning point. “What if he couldn’t get to them, or the others? What if, let’s say, someone  _ else _ were to have them?” 

“Grabbing at redemption might be a bit much.” 

“But we  _ are _ adept at backstabbing.” 

“There is that.” 

X 

Dragon gestations are, as all parties involved knew, highly variable. Even so, it came as a shock when barely a week later, hers produced a perfectly formed red egg. His  _ and _ hers practically glowed with pride they would never be able to voice. 

Formora inspected the egg carefully. “It’s a male, looks good. Congratulations.” 

Happy humming came from the two parents, and a faint thrum of a response came from the dragon slumbering inside the ruby egg. Formora quickly intoned the spell to bind him to his future Rider, and then Morzan added something else: 

“ Help defeat Galbatorix .” 

Formora agreed, but couldn’t resist chiming in, “ Better yet, wait until he thinks he’s won,  _ then _ turn on him .” 

Morzan chucked at that. “ You, my friend, are a right- ” 

Formora’s mouth fell open at the string of magical expletives. Eventually, she broke in with a “Well, I’m kind of impressed.” 

“Am I wrong? Elves don’t usually practice marriage, right? And unless I’m mistaken, your anatomy isn’t all  _ that  _ different from that of a human female...” 

“Well-” She shifted her legs  _ just _ enough to be awkward. “You’re not wrong. It’s just, I don’t think you’ve ever called me a friend before.” 

X 

The beat of hers’ wings and the howl of the wind provided an excellent music to drown out the increasing darkness of Formora’s thoughts. Eventually, the two reached the familiar clearing. The smashed trees and scorch marks from the pyres of her twin and his purple had faded in the intervening years, but were unmistakeable to anyone who’d already seen them. She knelt in the dirt, and laid a hand on the blackened earth. 

_ Hey, brother. We’ll be joining you shortly. _

Never mind the insistence from the more vocal members of her race that since they hadn’t found an afterlife, it didn’t exist. Nothing ever disappeared, not quite. She  _ would _ see her twin again if it was the last thing she did. 

Which wrung a grim chuckle from her and hers. 

The sky was completely, utterly black by the time the dragon and Rider got going again. Not a single star could be seen through the unbroken cloud cover. 

No matter. She knew the way to Vroengard with her and hers’ eyes shut. 

X 

During many visits to the Riders’ ancestral before, the spire had been nearly impossible to look at directly. This time, though, it was different. Something about it drew her in, calling her and hers to stand before it. 

“ _ What is your name? _ ” The voice was unmistakeably that of a dragon. 

“ _ Formora, also known as- _ ” 

She broke off, realizing that the name Galbatorix had been using for the past decades no longer held sway. The new one presented itself almost immediately, and she spoke it without hesitation. She was still no hero, not even close, but she  _ was _ less of a villain than before, and she was of use to what was in the Vault. 

Massive doors opened, and Formora and her dragon walked through without hesitation. 

X 

Morzan would have grumbled at being woken in the middle of the night had the summons come from anyone other than the king. As it was, he slapped on his most painfully transparent diplomatic facade and just dealt with it. 

“Sir?” 

“Take yours and fly to Vroengard as quickly as you can. Formora and Mirimel are in danger.” 

Morzan nodded and turned to leave, then went cold. 

“Mirimel.” 

Come to think of it, that  _ had _ been the brown’s name. He turned to glance back at Galbatorix, who looked as stunned as Morzan felt. 

“ Go .” 

X 

The “incident” with Oromis and Glaedr had left her feeling sullied for the first time. Nothing compared to later battles, but still... 

They’d only wanted a away to sneak into Ilirea unnoticed and take over. No one would have been killed if they’d managed it. Except, to be realistic, Galbatorix probably would have just killed most of them anyway. 

The damage to Oromis bothered her still, but after what Glaedr had done to Kialandi, she couldn’t honestly claim regret over chopping off his leg. Her brother and theirs had been her only real friends since long before their uprising. 

All of which the many Eldunari were now learning as they picked over her mind. The dragon man in front of her had disarmed her as easily as plucking a flower. Never mind. She wasn’t here to fight. 

After what seemed like forever and no time at all, they allowed her to speak, and she choked out, “ _ I have a message, for whoever wishes to overthrow Galbatorix _ .” 

_ That _ caught the attention of the leader of the minds assailing her, and she finally recognized it as Umaroth, once the leader of the bonded dragons. 

“ _ Speak _ .” 

A few gasps for air later, she finally focused enough to communicate, “ _ There are three dragon eggs in Uru’baen, locked in an old storage room. I saw them once, when I gave Galbatorix the last one _ .” 

The gift had pleased him enough to abandon caution and allow her to see the small creatures trapped in eggs of green and blue. She’d added the red one without hesitation, and something about the trio looked...  _ complete _ , as if the first two had been waiting for the third all this time. Blue, green, red. Mix light of those three colors and you can make all the rest. 

“ _ There’s a tunnel straight to that room. It was a fire exit back in the day. It comes out on top of the shelf overhanging the city _ .” 

As she described it, Formora sent Umaroth images of the structures in question. He examined them for some time, then eventually responded with: “ _ Thank you, child. We will find a way to rescue them _ .” 

Formora bowed politely, then asked wordlessly if she could leave. 

“ _ Let us have your mind. We will erase the memories of this place _ .” 

Formora shook her head even though Umaroth couldn’t see it. “ _ That won’t be necessary _ .” 

Umaroth read her intentions, then grimly agreed. 

“ _ Go in peace, child _ .” 

X 

Mirimel hummed in sheer joy as she circled the dead city, her mind melded with Formora’s so tightly as to be indistinguishable. They could enjoy this, one last time. 

Dragon and Rider were  _ not  _ forgiven, not even close, but perhaps they did not deserve as harsh of a punishment as they had been given. That would have to be enough. 

Any further existence would only leave them having lost the pure joy of the moment, and they would be a risk to the only good thing they’d accomplished. So this was it, now. 

They landed in a courtyard covered in vines and skeletons. Some of the clouds had shifted, and a small cluster of stars shone through. Formora had a strange urge to see them more closely, and then she knew, exactly, how she would accomplish her goal. 

Mirimel lowered her head to the ground and began to retch violently like a cat with a hairball. Her Eldunari soon emerged, landing with a soft thud in a patch of moss. Formora lifted it gingerly -odd, considering her intentions- and tucked it into her backpack. 

Ascending the nearest column required the destruction of a few wards and the last vestige of self-preservation, but those were easily dealt with, and up she climbed. 

For a few last moments, she enjoyed watching the stars. One was a bit fuzzy, a comet, she thought. A dirty snowball that can only be seen when it disintegrates and melts. 

A sign of death. 

Below, Mirimel had curled up as if to sleep. 

“ _ I am ready, little one _ .” 

“ _ My beautiful love. Goodbye, Mirimel _ .” 

X 

The predawn glow casts the indistinct shadows of skeletal dragons over most of the island. Nowhere on what used to be the home of the Riders was untouched by death and destruction. 

Morzan does not care. He only wishes to see one dragon, one Rider. But it is obviously too late. As ever. 

Mirimel could be sleeping, but for the absence of her mind. Not far away, Formora lies on the cold, hard ground, surrounded by the remains of a brown Eldunari as broken as she. 

Morzan lifts her, carries her to Mirimel, and she feels so  _ wrong _ in his arms. Broken beyond repair. Just like his soul. He lays her next to Mirimel and tucks one limp wing over her like a blanket. 

The red Rider and his retreat to a safe distance and burn the bodies to ashes. 

By the time the fires die out, Formora and Mirimel could pass for casualties of the original battle, which is not entirely incorrect. Morzan will report to Galbatorix only that he and his were too late to save them. 

Which is also true. 

X 

Selena greets him on his return “home” with an exhausted irritation. The cause -Murtagh’s injury- is obvious. So, too, the fact that she will not anger him, not even for the sake of her older child. She carries another, mind blazing away even this early, but he doubts it is his. That fails to anger him, and so he says nothing of it. She will go to her grave having faith in his ignorance. 

X 

Morzan visits his son that night, in the lavish nursery he’d ordered set up for the child. As if it made up for the horrors, for the lack of his mother. 

The child’s caretakers had been kind enough to place the mattress and all else directly on the floor. Murtagh is making full use of that fact, retrieving toy soldiers from baskets around the room to join in the battle on the center rug, useless and emaciated legs trailing behind him. The resident healers had kept him alive, but they couldn’t fix a severed spinal cord. That kind of anatomical knowledge was beyond pretty much any normal human. 

Not that he himself is anything close to a normal human. Not after all of those Eldunari memories, even though Galbatorix had confiscated the same after the takeover. Which was tactically correct since it left him more powerful than all Thirteen together. 

Morzan creeps closer, and notes that the battle includes a red dragon and a blue. Whether this is the past or the future, he cannot tell. 

Then the child sees him, and scoots back into a corner. His right leg, fully swaddled against splinters, knocks over half of the soldiers on the side of the blue without the child even noticing. It occurs to Morzan that the child’s arms must be sore and overworked, hauling himself around all the time. 

His son’s life is nothing put pain, terror, fear, violence, helplessness. That was his fate quite possibly from the moment Morzan took Selena from her home all those years ago. 

A specific word finds its way to his lips, almost unbidden. Just one word and then no more suffering, no more guilt, even Selena won’t have to fear for him anymore. She has the other one, anyway. 

Decided, he reaches for the child’s mind, only to be met by an impressive wall. 

“ _ Murtagh has learned well _ .” 

His’ voice breaks through his own defenses, reminding him that no action against the child would be without consequences. 

The spell Morzan thought to cast fades to nothing but the taste of it lingering on his tongue. Something like the smoke from the pyre on Vroengard. Death and destruction. 

_ No, not today. Too much of that already _ . 

Focused on mental defense at all costs, Murtagh lies flat on his back, absolutely still. He does not even open his eyes as Morzan tiptoes across the cluttered room and kneels beside him. As soon as he wraps his arms around Murtagh, though, the child begins to thrash violently, stabbing at his father with one of the toy soldiers. Morzan holds on despite this, attempting to soothe his son with what comforting sounds he can, but to little purpose. This is not even close to his area of expertise. 

“ Hush, little one .” 

The vague whimpering stops, but the struggles only intensify. His son is strong, and he knows he should be proud. The child has the arms of a swordfighter, if he could stay on his feet. 

“ I will not hurt you again .” 

Morzan has taught the little one only a few of the words, but he stills anyway, going limp in his father’s arms. After a moment, his breathing slows, and the mental walls relax somewhat. Sleep or surrender, Morzan cannot say and does not care. He undresses his son before laying him on the mattress. 

The wound is horrific, he notes with no emotion. Zar’roc struck above the left hip, slicing through the spine and whichever organs all the way to the opposite shoulder. That he had even survived was oddly impressive. 

As Morzan reaches for his magic, the gedway ignasia on his right hand begins to glow. He falters, caught for a moment in memories of the day he gained it. 

_ A female elf flew in on a sky blue dragon with a box of eggs. He felt drawn to the red one, lifted it, and watched it hatch within seconds. They bonded-  _

Morzan had thought he would be a hero, and for a while, such had been the case. His hometown, not far from the castle he’d eventually built, had sent him off with a celebratory feast and good wishes. Meeting Brom had added to that feeling; the younger Rider had been something of a younger brother to him, someone to protect and teach. 

True to form, Morzan screwed that up, too. He did not deserve to be a hero, no. Not now, not ever. But he didn’t have to be a villain every waking moment of every single day. 

Morzan places his glowing hand on his son’s mangled, misaligned spine and begins to cast a spell. Bones and muscles and nerves and all else crawl like worms under the child’s skin, finding their way back to their intended locations. 

Murtagh thrashes violently, mouth twisted in agony so all-consuming he cannot even draw breath to scream. Somehow, this is too much even for Morzan, and he blurts out “Shh,  I’m sorry, I’m sorry .” 

The child passes out before he is done, and that is a mercy. 

Experimentally, Morzan pinches one of his son’s toes, and finds some joy that Murtagh flinches away without waking. He will eventually re-learn how to use his legs. But the scar will remain, somewhere that the child needing proof of the violence meets his own knowledge that he does not deserve to have his sins erased. 

X 

That night, Morzan simply sits next to the fire, watching the remains of dead trees crumble to ashes, the creators of breathable air consuming that same air in their turn. To everything, there must be an end, or a counterpoint. 

He knows his own end is not far off. 

Unsteady footsteps make their way into the room, and there is the child,  _ his _ child, back on his feet. Nothing in the father remains to marvel at that. 

The child comes up to where he sits, and incredibly, lifts his arms to be held. That is a spell of an entirely different sort. Morzan obliges, because it would tire him more to refuse. They sit together for long minutes, while he feels nothing at all. Until a force gathers itself, as when it is time for his to use magic. 

“There’s a story I want to tell you, about a friend of mine.” 

Tomorrow, Morzan knows with inexplicable certainty, he will leave his home to chase a dragon egg, never to return. He will never see the child again, much less the woman he’d once told himself he loved. 

The thought fails to trouble him. 

For now, though, he tells the child the story of a red dragon egg, and hopes  _ someone _ will remember it. Perhaps the two will meet one day. It is not good to be alone. 

For now, he enjoys the company of another, one who has nothing to offer him, who simply wants to live. 

For now, he relishes the fact that he has had a hand in creating not one, but two facets of the universe he will soon depart. 

Just for now, he is a human again. 

Perhaps that is enough. 


End file.
